'w' is for Winnie embedded in ice
1. wherepiesdie is a comm dedicated to a rewatching and discussion of Twin Peaks in its entirety. We plan on doing 2 episodes a week. In the new year. If you've never seen before, or if you're in the mood for a rewatch and a discussion as you go, please check it out.
2. THE BEST SNACK EVER. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ALL SNOBBY ABOUT YOUR JUNK FOOD, THESE ARE THE BOMB:
GOLDEN GRAHAMS S'MORES.
A) GREASE 13x9x2" PAN
B) HEAT ¾ C. LIGHT CORN SYRUP, 3TBSP BUTTER, 11.5 oz MILK CHOCOLATE TO BOILING IN A DOUBLE BOILER. REMOVE FROM HEAT AND STIR IN VANILLA.
C) POUR 12 oz. GOLDEN GRAHAMS INTO A LARGE BOWL, TOSS WITH MELTED MIXTURE UNTIL COATED.
D) STIR IN 3 C. MINI MARSHMALLOWS ON CUP AT A TIME.
E) PRESS INTO PAN WITH THE BACK OF A BUTTERED SPOON. LET STAND 1 HOUR. ENJOY THE BLISS.
3. My dad doesn't read my lj, so it's safe to tell the abridged tale of the Snuggie.
My father is notoriously hard to buy for. He has no hobbies, no passions. He's an accountant. He's the kind of guy who opens his presents when you're not looking on Crimmas morning and then he doesn't remember what you got him when you say "what'd you get?" three seconds later. So I usually get him something edible, because I figure hey, food.
NOT THIS YEAR. OH NO, NOT THIS YEAR.
Sunday my mom says, "You know your dad wants a Snuggie. Wanna buy it for Crimmas?" And I'm like, "Sure." I mean, the Snuggie is lame, and I'm sorry if you are the proud owner of one, but to me it looks like a cat hair gathering do it yourself strangulation kit.
GOD HAS SEEN FIT TO PUNISH MY MOCKERY.
Yesterday afternoon I pop in to Target, to pick one up. They were selling them at the grocery store, for Christ' sakes. There's an empty shelf and nothing but kid Snuggies. Well, I figure, Target is swamped. But they have them at Walgreen's [WTF PEOPLE, "WALGREEN'S" WAS IN MY SPELLCHECKER. SPELLCHECK, YOU HAVE WALGREEN'S BUT NOT 'ARSE'?], so I'll hop into the Rite-Aid by my house, because it's out of the way, and they'll have them.
OH, NO.
I START TO GET WORRIED. ALTERNATE GIFT IDEAS? I HAVE NO SUCH THING. AT ONE POINT IN MY ADVENTUR, (THANKS, SAM) I BEGIN TO CONVINCE MYSELF THAT A GIFT CERTIFICATE TO MCDONALD'S WOULD BE GOOD (No really, he stops there every Saturday morning for breakfast on his way to the office during tax season. DON'T JUDGE ME.)
Last night I start at Sears, which is a ghost town. THAT'S BECAUSE PEOPLE TOOK THE SNUGGIES AND LEFT, with only a display of Kid Snuggies there to mock me. I go to K-Mart (and wasn't THAT a nightmare), and then on the way home from that, mom texts that she's going to go to Wal-Mart for me. Now let me explain that I have personal issues with Wal-Mart that have nothing do to with its political affiliations and slave labour blah blah. No, it stems from the fact that every one I have ever lived near has been made of ass, with clientele who rip shit from shelves and leave it strewn all over the already difficult to navigate store. They scream loudly at each other and wave their hands and have public fights. There's a general sense of disease. They leave half-eaten food from the concession randomly about the store. I can never find anything because THE CUSTOMERS RELOCATE IT IN THAT WAY I HATE-THE "I'M THE CUSTOMER SO I DON'T HAVE TO PUT SOMETHING BACK IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. I CAN OPEN BOXES OF STUFF AND PULLOUT THE PRODUCT TO LOOK AT IT AND THEN JUST THROW IT ON THE SHELF WITHOUT BUYING IT."
CLDKFHVPDOSUERFJ I THINK THERE'S A REASON IT'S IN A BOX WRAPPED IN PLASTIC, DICKHEAD. I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT "I'M A CUSTOMER" BULLSHIT. VENDOR/CUSTOMER IS A SOCIAL AND FINANCIAL CONTRACT, AND YOU ARE VIOLATING YOUR END. ASSHOLE.
(SIDEBAR: I also hate when people read books at the café in a bookstore with out buying them, and THEN LEAVE THEM ON THE TABLE LIKE THEY'RE AT THE FUCKING LIBRARY. JESUS, YOU'RE NOT EVEN BUYING THAT BOOK YOU LIBERALLY THUMBED WHILST DRINKING YOUR MOCCACHINO, PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FUCKING GOT IT, FREELOADER. IF THIS IS YOU, I FORGIVE YOU. MY FRIENDS DO IT. IT JUST GIVES ME A FACIAL TIC.)
Needless to say I would rather play 30 bucks in overnight shipping than go to Wal-Mart. It's worth it. See? Today on your local news, did you read about the Wal-Mart Holiday Massacre? You're welcome. You may be sceptical, but one thing I can locate at the Wal-Mart? The guns. They're hard to miss.
Likewise, I don't want HER to go to Wal-Mart, only to have A HORRIBLE EXPERIENCE THAT WILL BE MY FAULT, and also FIND THAT THEY ARE SOLD OUT TOO. (I mean, because if Sears is cleaned out of the SNUGGIE and there were no customers in there, then a free Snuggie on a Wal-Mart shelf has the free agent status of an ice cube in hell.) So I give up, get ready to find out what FedEx charges for overnight shipping [INSERT JOKE ABOUT TOM HANKS/WILSON/CASTAWAY HERE], and start the drive home.
On my way home, I decide to try a part of town closer to my house, and I stop at a Rite Aid and ask the clerk, "Do you sell Snuggies?"
Her: We DID.
Me: Oh, you.
Her: Who knew they'd be this popular?
Me: Oh yes. Who knew.
Her: You could try Pat Catan's. They have all kinds of that As Seen On TV stuff.
Me: (giving her the knowing eye) Okay.
Pat Catan's [a craft store] isn't going to have them. I can feel it in my bones. Like when Gollem could sense the One Ring, I knew they were no where near me. In a fifty mile radius. [IF YOU ARE ABOUT TO PROTEST MY LOTR REFERENCE HERE, SIT BACK, DON'T, AND USE THAT TIME INSTEAD TO THINK ABOUT WHAT A NERD YOU ARE.]
So I go to fucking Pat Catan's. On the way there I pass the Hart Funeral Home. Haahahahahaaahahaaaha. Ha. Ha.
Have I mentioned that it is a) fucking cold, and b) the kid is with me? Poor kid, being dragged in and out of stores, at this point, I don't even bother letting her walk, I just carry her because I don't want to wait for her stumpy three year old legs. She keeps asking me for something that I cannot discern, and never find out what it is, because she never managed to translate it into English.
PAT CATAN'S HAS SNUGGIES. REJOICE.
THEY'RE ALL PINK. FOR BREAST CANCER.
Now, my dad is 61. He has a purple fleece jester hat that he wears when his head is cold. He used to wear pale pink dress shirts. He's one of those dudes who doesn't really care about this shit.
But still. This might be too much.
Me to the clerk: Do you have any Snuggies that aren't pink?"
Her: I don't think so. Becky? Any non-pink Snuggies?
Becky: Nope. But hey, you know where they do have Snuggies?
Me: Oh please God no.
Becky: Wal-Mart!
Me: headbanging
Becky: They even have Steelers ones!
Me: headbanging more
So. I go home. I know you thought I was going to go to Wal-Mart (the clerk even offered me their number to call and ask if they had Snuggies before I drove over there), but I DID NOT. First, I don't know how to get there, and second, BURN IN HELL.
I also want to stress that since my dad doesn't even remember what you buy him five minutes after he opens it, he wouldn't mind a computer printout of the gift receipt and assurances that it'd be here like Wednesday. I don't get why you HAVE to have it Crimmas day. For someone with the apparent memory of a goldfish when it comes to things not football and tax related, getting a Crimmas gift late would just be a nice surprise. I see him every day. It's not as if he's leaving town Saturday. Or perhaps I just have the worst Crimmas spirit evar.
As I stroll down the sidewalk and look at lights with the kid, then, I get a text.
Mom: Blue or Leopard?
Me: SONOFABITCH.
She was on her way to Wal-Mart, AGAINST MY WISHES, and popped into a small CVS on a whim, in the manner of my theory about out of the way places still having stock. There they were!
He has ended up with a camel one, BECAUSE SHE FOUND IT ON A RANDOM SHELF SOMEWHERE IN THE STORE, DISCARDED BY SOME ASSHAT SHOPPER WHO DECIDED THEY COULDN'T BE ARSED TO PUT THINGS BACK. THE IRONY OF THIS IS NOT LOST ON ME. LAUUUUUGH, PUPPETS, LAUGH.
I HATE THE SNUGGIE. I HATE CRIMMAS. I HATE SHOPPING.
4. EVERYONE HAVE AN AWESOME CRIMMAS. I WOULD MAKE YOU A PLAYLIST OF WHAT I AM GOING TO BE LISTENING TO, BUT IT WILL PROBABLY BE ALL OTIS AND OLD LIZ PHAIR. I'M NOT EVEN GETTING DRUNK.
SOME MIGHT SAY I HAVE NO CRIMMAS SPIRIT. THEY MIGHT BE RIGHT.
EAT SOMETHING DANGEROUS FOR ME.
2. THE BEST SNACK EVER. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ALL SNOBBY ABOUT YOUR JUNK FOOD, THESE ARE THE BOMB:
GOLDEN GRAHAMS S'MORES.
A) GREASE 13x9x2" PAN
B) HEAT ¾ C. LIGHT CORN SYRUP, 3TBSP BUTTER, 11.5 oz MILK CHOCOLATE TO BOILING IN A DOUBLE BOILER. REMOVE FROM HEAT AND STIR IN VANILLA.
C) POUR 12 oz. GOLDEN GRAHAMS INTO A LARGE BOWL, TOSS WITH MELTED MIXTURE UNTIL COATED.
D) STIR IN 3 C. MINI MARSHMALLOWS ON CUP AT A TIME.
E) PRESS INTO PAN WITH THE BACK OF A BUTTERED SPOON. LET STAND 1 HOUR. ENJOY THE BLISS.
3. My dad doesn't read my lj, so it's safe to tell the abridged tale of the Snuggie.
My father is notoriously hard to buy for. He has no hobbies, no passions. He's an accountant. He's the kind of guy who opens his presents when you're not looking on Crimmas morning and then he doesn't remember what you got him when you say "what'd you get?" three seconds later. So I usually get him something edible, because I figure hey, food.
NOT THIS YEAR. OH NO, NOT THIS YEAR.
Sunday my mom says, "You know your dad wants a Snuggie. Wanna buy it for Crimmas?" And I'm like, "Sure." I mean, the Snuggie is lame, and I'm sorry if you are the proud owner of one, but to me it looks like a cat hair gathering do it yourself strangulation kit.
GOD HAS SEEN FIT TO PUNISH MY MOCKERY.
Yesterday afternoon I pop in to Target, to pick one up. They were selling them at the grocery store, for Christ' sakes. There's an empty shelf and nothing but kid Snuggies. Well, I figure, Target is swamped. But they have them at Walgreen's [WTF PEOPLE, "WALGREEN'S" WAS IN MY SPELLCHECKER. SPELLCHECK, YOU HAVE WALGREEN'S BUT NOT 'ARSE'?], so I'll hop into the Rite-Aid by my house, because it's out of the way, and they'll have them.
OH, NO.
I START TO GET WORRIED. ALTERNATE GIFT IDEAS? I HAVE NO SUCH THING. AT ONE POINT IN MY ADVENTUR, (THANKS, SAM) I BEGIN TO CONVINCE MYSELF THAT A GIFT CERTIFICATE TO MCDONALD'S WOULD BE GOOD (No really, he stops there every Saturday morning for breakfast on his way to the office during tax season. DON'T JUDGE ME.)
Last night I start at Sears, which is a ghost town. THAT'S BECAUSE PEOPLE TOOK THE SNUGGIES AND LEFT, with only a display of Kid Snuggies there to mock me. I go to K-Mart (and wasn't THAT a nightmare), and then on the way home from that, mom texts that she's going to go to Wal-Mart for me. Now let me explain that I have personal issues with Wal-Mart that have nothing do to with its political affiliations and slave labour blah blah. No, it stems from the fact that every one I have ever lived near has been made of ass, with clientele who rip shit from shelves and leave it strewn all over the already difficult to navigate store. They scream loudly at each other and wave their hands and have public fights. There's a general sense of disease. They leave half-eaten food from the concession randomly about the store. I can never find anything because THE CUSTOMERS RELOCATE IT IN THAT WAY I HATE-THE "I'M THE CUSTOMER SO I DON'T HAVE TO PUT SOMETHING BACK IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. I CAN OPEN BOXES OF STUFF AND PULLOUT THE PRODUCT TO LOOK AT IT AND THEN JUST THROW IT ON THE SHELF WITHOUT BUYING IT."
CLDKFHVPDOSUERFJ I THINK THERE'S A REASON IT'S IN A BOX WRAPPED IN PLASTIC, DICKHEAD. I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT "I'M A CUSTOMER" BULLSHIT. VENDOR/CUSTOMER IS A SOCIAL AND FINANCIAL CONTRACT, AND YOU ARE VIOLATING YOUR END. ASSHOLE.
(SIDEBAR: I also hate when people read books at the café in a bookstore with out buying them, and THEN LEAVE THEM ON THE TABLE LIKE THEY'RE AT THE FUCKING LIBRARY. JESUS, YOU'RE NOT EVEN BUYING THAT BOOK YOU LIBERALLY THUMBED WHILST DRINKING YOUR MOCCACHINO, PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FUCKING GOT IT, FREELOADER. IF THIS IS YOU, I FORGIVE YOU. MY FRIENDS DO IT. IT JUST GIVES ME A FACIAL TIC.)
Needless to say I would rather play 30 bucks in overnight shipping than go to Wal-Mart. It's worth it. See? Today on your local news, did you read about the Wal-Mart Holiday Massacre? You're welcome. You may be sceptical, but one thing I can locate at the Wal-Mart? The guns. They're hard to miss.
Likewise, I don't want HER to go to Wal-Mart, only to have A HORRIBLE EXPERIENCE THAT WILL BE MY FAULT, and also FIND THAT THEY ARE SOLD OUT TOO. (I mean, because if Sears is cleaned out of the SNUGGIE and there were no customers in there, then a free Snuggie on a Wal-Mart shelf has the free agent status of an ice cube in hell.) So I give up, get ready to find out what FedEx charges for overnight shipping [INSERT JOKE ABOUT TOM HANKS/WILSON/CASTAWAY HERE], and start the drive home.
On my way home, I decide to try a part of town closer to my house, and I stop at a Rite Aid and ask the clerk, "Do you sell Snuggies?"
Her: We DID.
Me: Oh, you.
Her: Who knew they'd be this popular?
Me: Oh yes. Who knew.
Her: You could try Pat Catan's. They have all kinds of that As Seen On TV stuff.
Me: (giving her the knowing eye) Okay.
Pat Catan's [a craft store] isn't going to have them. I can feel it in my bones. Like when Gollem could sense the One Ring, I knew they were no where near me. In a fifty mile radius. [IF YOU ARE ABOUT TO PROTEST MY LOTR REFERENCE HERE, SIT BACK, DON'T, AND USE THAT TIME INSTEAD TO THINK ABOUT WHAT A NERD YOU ARE.]
So I go to fucking Pat Catan's. On the way there I pass the Hart Funeral Home. Haahahahahaaahahaaaha. Ha. Ha.
Have I mentioned that it is a) fucking cold, and b) the kid is with me? Poor kid, being dragged in and out of stores, at this point, I don't even bother letting her walk, I just carry her because I don't want to wait for her stumpy three year old legs. She keeps asking me for something that I cannot discern, and never find out what it is, because she never managed to translate it into English.
PAT CATAN'S HAS SNUGGIES. REJOICE.
THEY'RE ALL PINK. FOR BREAST CANCER.
Now, my dad is 61. He has a purple fleece jester hat that he wears when his head is cold. He used to wear pale pink dress shirts. He's one of those dudes who doesn't really care about this shit.
But still. This might be too much.
Me to the clerk: Do you have any Snuggies that aren't pink?"
Her: I don't think so. Becky? Any non-pink Snuggies?
Becky: Nope. But hey, you know where they do have Snuggies?
Me: Oh please God no.
Becky: Wal-Mart!
Me: headbanging
Becky: They even have Steelers ones!
Me: headbanging more
So. I go home. I know you thought I was going to go to Wal-Mart (the clerk even offered me their number to call and ask if they had Snuggies before I drove over there), but I DID NOT. First, I don't know how to get there, and second, BURN IN HELL.
I also want to stress that since my dad doesn't even remember what you buy him five minutes after he opens it, he wouldn't mind a computer printout of the gift receipt and assurances that it'd be here like Wednesday. I don't get why you HAVE to have it Crimmas day. For someone with the apparent memory of a goldfish when it comes to things not football and tax related, getting a Crimmas gift late would just be a nice surprise. I see him every day. It's not as if he's leaving town Saturday. Or perhaps I just have the worst Crimmas spirit evar.
As I stroll down the sidewalk and look at lights with the kid, then, I get a text.
Mom: Blue or Leopard?
Me: SONOFABITCH.
She was on her way to Wal-Mart, AGAINST MY WISHES, and popped into a small CVS on a whim, in the manner of my theory about out of the way places still having stock. There they were!
He has ended up with a camel one, BECAUSE SHE FOUND IT ON A RANDOM SHELF SOMEWHERE IN THE STORE, DISCARDED BY SOME ASSHAT SHOPPER WHO DECIDED THEY COULDN'T BE ARSED TO PUT THINGS BACK. THE IRONY OF THIS IS NOT LOST ON ME. LAUUUUUGH, PUPPETS, LAUGH.
I HATE THE SNUGGIE. I HATE CRIMMAS. I HATE SHOPPING.
4. EVERYONE HAVE AN AWESOME CRIMMAS. I WOULD MAKE YOU A PLAYLIST OF WHAT I AM GOING TO BE LISTENING TO, BUT IT WILL PROBABLY BE ALL OTIS AND OLD LIZ PHAIR. I'M NOT EVEN GETTING DRUNK.
SOME MIGHT SAY I HAVE NO CRIMMAS SPIRIT. THEY MIGHT BE RIGHT.
EAT SOMETHING DANGEROUS FOR ME.